


Things We Won't Speak of in the Morning

by JohnlockAndATardis



Series: Ivory Shadows - Universe [3]
Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: Can be read as stand-alone, In which Alex and Strand finally get it on (for the four thousandth time I've wrote it), Motel Fic, Only One Bed, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:54:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23404834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnlockAndATardis/pseuds/JohnlockAndATardis
Summary: Following the strange occurrence in the fog, Alex and Richard retire to the first motel they encounter. Shenanigans ensue.-This is technically part of the Ivory Shadows universe and occurs after the events of "Where I Left You" but before "Strawberry Evanescence," however it can be read as a stand-alone fic. This is, in fact, a "we're at a motel and there's only one bed" trope fic so, you're welcome. As for timeline... It doesn't really exist but somewhere around Season One or Two, definitely pre-season 2's finale.
Relationships: Alex Reagan/Richard Strand
Series: Ivory Shadows - Universe [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/468118
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

They were silent as Richard drove, and Alex found herself glad for that. When she’d stumbled out of the tent and into the cold night air she had been shaking, and she must have looked a fright because Richard came running to her. They were in a wheat field, although just seconds before the world had been alive with light and sound. He’d called her name several times, too many for her to know for certain before she realized it was him, before her gaze turned his was.

_She’d heard her father’s voice._ It had been years, and she knew if she told Richard he would try to find the sense in it, explain away all of the events, the tents and the strange creatures that were inhuman but so real, so alive. That he would try to explain away his voice in her ear, calling her name. She hadn’t told him about the statue she’d found, hadn’t showed it to anyone. Some part of her, the sensible part, understood it was likely a replica, that it was almost impossible to have found the right one, the one she’d lost so many years before. But as her fingers reach into her pocket and wrap around the ivory statue she knows that it was her father’s as certainly as she knows that tonight, somehow, was real. She doesn’t want Richard to make it go away, she doesn’t want his logic and excuses. Somehow, her father had been there, with her that night in whatever the place they’d stumbled into was. She didn’t want to forget him.

The highway stretched out in its own infinity before them, until at last she saw the apparition of a vivid neon sign glowing blue and green against the coming of morning. “They have a vacancy,” she murmured. Strand’s eyes left the road for a second to fall onto her – it was the first thing she’d said to him since the field, only nodding when he’d asked if she was alright.

The motel was small and squat, with a cabin style and bright, cheery blue doors. There was only one room open, and the owner looked at them strangely as they stumbled in, the morning sun slowly rising up after them, asking for it. Strand filled out the paperwork and retrieved the key, and neither of them said anything to correct them when he asked Richard if him or his wife would be needing anything, extra towels or the like. They simply smiled, took the offered key, and walked to room seven in silence.

Inside, the log walls were loaded with cheesy décor – metal signs from days past, a Coke advertisement, even one of those singing bass that had been popular at yard sales when shew as a child. There was one bed, wide and low set, with yellow and blue flower print sheets.

“I’ll take the floor,” Richard murmured as he shut the door behind them. Alex lifted her head towards him, glancing back at the bed.

“Richard.” Her voice was soft but firm. “Don’t be foolish.” She slid her shoes off, let her coat drop off her shoulders, throwing it onto an overstuffed brown armchair that was sat awkwardly beside the entertainment center. Strand looked at her, and she could see the way that he swallowed, refused to meet her eyes, his own flickering away from her. “We’ll share.”

Usually, Alex kept an overnight bag with her whenever she went out on trips, but they’d taken Richard’s car and she’d left it in her own. She slipped beneath the blankets before shimmying her jeans off, tossing them to the side. Richard bit his lip before carefully discarding his own jacket, hanging it on a hook beside the door. She watched as he methodically removed the contents of his pockets – wallet, keys – as well as his glasses and watch, placing these on the nightstand, his shoes before it. There was something of a pink hue to his cheek that made Alex’s lips turn up in a smile – he was blushing, Richard Strand of all people – as he slipped into the bed beside her.

“Goodnight, Richard,” Alex murmured.

“Goodnight, Ms. Reagan.”

Alex snorted, reaching out to turn off the lamp, the vague light of morning filtering through the drawn curtains. Her eyes shut, and sleep overcame her almost instantaneously.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ask and ye shall receive. Except no one asked and this was a lot more porn and feelings than I was expecting to write so... have fun.

_She could not discern as consciousness came to her the contents of her dreams. They came all together, visions of swirling water that left her gasping for air, strange black eyes, a cloud of red hair, the smell of poppies permeating all of these. There were other things too, dense smoke that appeared as a midnight violet haze seeping through a thicket, a voice calling to her through the trees, searching._

_“Alex! Alexandra Reagan!” Its quality was sing-song and strange, an imitation of a child’s affectation that chilled her to the bone. The dream became more stable, more real even as she felt herself falling away from it. She spun around to find the source, but only began to spin in circles, over and over again, unable to control her body._

“Alex!”

It was Strand’s voice that penetrated through the dream, and when she awoke gasping she found him leaning over her, brow creasing, lips small with a frown. He was handsome like this, Alex ruminated. His piercing blue eyes were warm with worry, his silvering hair askew.

“Richard,” Alex murmured softly, her fingers reaching up of their own accord to touch his face. Beneath her fingers, there was a subtle brush of stubble that was not altogether unpleasant, although it was at odds with how she had anticipated it would be, when she first touched him like this. How many nights, Alex wondered as her cheeks flushed with color, had she thought about a situation just like this, the two of them traveling together, finally giving in to what she knew they both wanted? But Richard was a professional… He wouldn’t do this. Her hand moved away, but Strand captured it in his own. Alex’s heart beat faster, so quick, so insistent she was certain that he could hear it.

“You seemed upset,” Strand whispered, as though afraid of shattering the peace that existed between they two. “I thought it best to wake you.”

She smiled, shifting beneath him. The way he was positioned, half on his side, half over her, supported by his elbow, allowed his body to nearly curtain her own. There was so little distance between them, they were so close she could smell his aftershave and his cologne, the sharp, clean waft of his soap. They’d been close before… but never like this. Not so close that she could make out the faint lines at the edge of his eyes, the orange that partially encircled his corneas. Staring into them, she’d never realized just how blue they were.

“Thank you,” she whispered back to him. Strand smiled, looking almost bashful, and released his grip on her hand, moving to shift back to his side. But she was younger, quicker than that. Alex reached up, caught in the moment, in her own impulsivity, whatever it might be. She twined her fingers in his hair, drew him back down to her. Strand’s eyes went wide for a moment, but then their lips were meeting, and his were against her own.

Richard’s kisses were not that of a dying man seeking out his last breath, they held none of that desperation she might have expected, so long after Coralee. Rather, they were slow and insistent, and after his moment’s hesitation she felt the way that he became more assured in himself. He kissed the way he thumbed through books, the way he examined research, methodical, determined, passionate. After a moment he shifted, pulling her nearer, so that they were both resting on their sides, so that his hand could slide down her body, warm, broad, firm. It slipped over her chest, down along her ribcage through the fabric of the sweater she’d fallen asleep in, until Alex gasped when it reached the exposed skin of her hip, her thigh.

“Richard,” she cried, tilting her body receptively to his touch. God, she hadn’t imagine that it could feel like this, soft and so achingly tender, but so electric all at once. Against her own, Strand’s lips shifted into a smile, his fingers pulling at her flesh, urging her closer, closer. It felt lethal, like two combustible materials rubbing against each other, like each tug, each pull, each ounce of friction might set them both alight and she knew that this was dangerous, that this was not something they should be doing but God she did not care. She was in bed with Richard Strand and his mouth was finally, finally on hers, then not, kissing down the soft, pale pink flesh of her neck. His kisses were not gentlemanly there, suckling at that exposed skin, worrying it between his lips until she began to whimper and she heard him chuckle.

“Richard,” Alex moaned.

“Miss Reagan.” His head lifted and if he wasn’t such a devout atheist she would say that there was something devilish to his smile. _Two could play at that,_ Alex thought, and she grasped him by the collar of his white t-shirt, no longer immaculate after a night’s rest. She tugged him back up to her and kissed him hard and fast, their bodies moving, Alex urging him onto his back, straddling his hips. Strand made a surprised _oof_ as she sat upon him, just three layers dividing the hot warmth of her from his body and she wanted it to be none, she wanted to feel him inside of her like she had never wanted anything or anyone before. What was it about this man, this maddening, crazy man that made her feel these things? That made her body grow hot with want, that made her thighs clench together, how many nights had she stood beneath the spray of her shower, fucking herself until she collapsed with his name on her lips? And now she had him here, beneath her, so close to what she had wanted without being able to say it.

She kissed his chin once, a soft, almost chaste gesture, before rising, winking at Richard. His head cocked, his eyes trained on her, wholly entranced. Alex bit her lip, her fingers catching at the edge of her sweater, slowly dragging it up. Her stomach came into view first, soft but strong, the sweater slipping further over her flesh, revealing the tattoo she’d gotten with Amalia on her twenty-third birthday, delicate black ink peeking out from the lace bralette she wore. Richard slipped his hands up her sides as she tossed her shirt to the floor, and she let him, her breath shuddering as his fingers found her breasts, thumb rolling against her nipple through the thin fabric. He leaned up, captured her lips, his hands sliding around her back to unhook the flimsy clasp. She slipped it off her shoulders, flinging the bralette the way of her shirt. The sparrows soared above her ribcage, framing her breast. Strand’s fingers glided up her ribs, touching these, his fingers grazing her tender flesh. She moaned, rocking her hips down, into him.

God, he was hard. She could feel him through his trousers, the girth of him pressing up against her, and if she rocked her hips just right, she thought that she might be able to come like this, still in her underwear, finding friction against his cock until she cried out and collapsed onto him. Her left hand came up to join his, her tongue sweeping out over her lips as her right fell down, pressing hard against her own thigh.

“Touch yourself.” His voice was raspy, his eyes gone dark as an ocean storm when Alex’s met them, her heart skipping a beat.

“What?”

“Touch yourself,” Strand ordered. “I want to see you come undone for me.”

She bit her lip, her hand sliding across her thigh, slipping between her thighs and beneath the fabric that hid her. Her fingers were met with her own damp desire, and Alex couldn’t remember the last time that she had been so wet. Alex let herself gather this, her middle finger circling her clit and when it grazed that sensitive peak of flesh she found herself gasping, crying out, rocking against him. Richard’s eyes were fixed on her, and that made everything so much more. The feeling of doing this here, with him watching, when she had done it so many times before, whispering his name into the night as she came, not even daring to scream it then. It had been held softly in her lips, something she did not dare to wish into being.

She continued in the delicate circling of her clit, her other hand dropping down to grasp at Richard’s shoulder, stabilizing herself as she ground her hips against him, panting softly. “Good girl,” he praised. “Good girl, Alex,” and god she was a woman closer to thirty than twenty, but those words made her body shudder, sent a spark of desire to her most intimate place.

“Richard,” she moaned softly. She had hardly began and already she was going to come if she didn’t slow down.

“I’m here.” Soft and reassuring, the words were almost a rumble off his lips. He drew her down for a kiss, Alex still rolling her hips over the length of him, her hand still working against her body and everything was so much and this was Richard, touching her, kissing her so bruisingly. It didn’t feel real, felt like a dream, like if she closed her eyes it would all disappear, and she never wanted to stop feeling this. Her fingers worked quicker now, in tempo with their deepening kiss, and god she never knew Strand would kiss so sinfully. Her breath came shorter, little whimpers punctuating their kiss.

“Richard,” she gasped against his lips, breaking from them as she felt her toes curling, felt the peak drawing nearer. Her finger was still moving, her grip at his shoulder like a vice, and she felt like she was going to shatter.

“Come for me.” The words were no sooner off his lips than she was crying out his name, loud enough to pierce through the walls no doubt, her hips jerking in uneven motions against his lap as her hand moved and then stilled, the waves of her orgasm washing over her. She was caught in it like an ocean current, only able to experience that moment, and somewhere in her mind she realized how ridiculous it was, coming this hard, when he had barely touched her yet. And there was his voice, uttering praises as he kissed down her neck, softer now, feathering kisses that wouldn’t leave marks to last until they rose again.

As she fell from her orgasm she felt herself come back to her body, her lips shaping into a smile as she lifted his jaw and met him in another kiss, tender now, her fingers slipping away from her wetness. Her heartbeat quickened as he took her hand, pressing a soft kiss to her palm, doing the same to each of her fingertips, still coated in her wetness. Her free hand worked down between them and although with the show and Strand himself occupying much of her mind, she hadn’t had time for anything like this in a while, she quick with the button on his trousers. She tugged this open, working the zipper down when Strand grasped her wrist.

“You don’t have to do that,” her murmured now, and she saw the same pink flush at the tips of his ears that had been there earlier. Alex kissed him.

“I want to,” she murmured reassuringly, moving down his body until she was level with his hips. She eased his trousers off. Here she hesitated, lifting her head to him.

“You don’t happen to have a condom, do you?” she inquired. Strand shook his head, and she bit her lip. “When was the last time –“

“It’s been a few years,” Strand confessed, the pink deepening, “since I was tested, or had any cause to be, and after things had… ended, with her. Yourself?”

She got tested at every physical she had, or with every new partner, and she told Strand as much. Richard seemed contented with this, and so she drew down his boxers, a pleased moan escaping her as she freed the man. He was fiercely hard and dewdrop of pre-come already wet the head of his cock as she wrapped her fingers around the base. Her eyes met his as her tongue swept over the tip, closing her lips over it in a feathering kiss. Strand groaned, his head tossed back, a hand working up her wrist, along her shoulders to her hair. Taking this as encouragement, Alex took him into her mouth, her tongue working against the underside of his prick as she began to take him deeper. He was gentle with her, his hips working with the rhythm she set, though his grip on her hair tightened each time she took him deeper, deeper into her mouth.

“Alex-“ he moaned, and it was beautiful, her name in his mouth, as close to reverie as Doctor Strand ever got. Alex quickened her tempo, her hand moving against the base of his shaft in concert with his mouth. She felt him shuddering beneath her, but was equally taken by his restraint. Suddenly, she lifted, straddling his hips once more. Strand’s eyes flew open, and he watched as she lined herself up with him.

“Alex.” Her name again, uncertain, and she stilled for just a moment.

“I’m on the pill,” she reassured him, but still hovered there, waiting. After a moment he nodded. She lifted her hands to his shirt and pulled it off from him, his legs still tangled in his trousers, she still in her underwear. She slid these to the side as her hand fell upon his bare chest, other reaching between them to grasp his length. The head brushed against her desire and they both gasped, and then inch by inch she worked herself down, until his cock was fully engulfed in her tight, wet heat. She knew that he wasn’t going to last long, and already her every nerve was alight. There was something about this, more personal than it had ever felt with anyone else. He was filling her so fully, so completely, their bodies connected, as one. Alex gasped, her fingers folding against his chest, and she began to move, slowly lifting herself, working her hips down, rising again. She didn’t realize how badly she wanted this – she’d fantasized about it, yes, but that it had come to fruition… every nerve, every cell of her body was alight, her heart was beating fast, fast, fast in her chest.

“Alex,” Richard hissed and she knew that he was going to be coming soon, and she knew the same for herself. Embarrassingly soon, after the orgasm she’d just had.

“I know,” she moaned, rocking her hips, faster now, her hand grasping at his, their fingers twining. “Come,” she begged him. “Come, Richard.”

That was all it took, and with a cry of her name he was spilling inside of her. It was her name on his lips that set Alex off, her free hand working her tender clit until she came again, harder even now than the first time, the fire of her need centering into the very core of herself until she collapsed atop of him. Richard wrapped his arms around her body, and she lay there beside him for some time, simply letting herself be held. Strand touched her face gently, kissing her forehead, drawing her to him like at any moment she might leave.

“I’m here,” she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear her. “I’m here.”


End file.
